Phys Ed
by Rasial
Summary: "I'm a virgin!" Otis splutters, ruining the moment. But when Maeve finds out her sex therapist friend can't even masturbate, she offers to give him some physical therapy of her own devising...


'I'm a virgin!'

Otis had no idea why he'd spluttered and said that. Was it a subconscious desire to sabotage any possibility of kissing Maeve so she wouldn't discover how absolutely dog shit bad he was at it? Anxiety about what it would mean to kiss Maeve while she was dating Jackson? Or his garden-variety terror of sexual acts in general?

Maeve crinkled up her nose. "You can see how that's a bit ironic...Teenage Sex Whisperer, a virgin...probably good to keep that to ourselves; could be bad for business." She was talking casually, but she hadn't really moved any further out of his personal space.

Otis stared at his shoes. "They can't even begin to know how sexually fucked up I am."

Maeve frowned. "You mean, like, you've got really perverted tastes or something?'

Otis' cheeks burned, and he tried to turn away from the conversation, but Maeve grabbed his hand and yanked him back. "No, it's not that. I..." he folded his hands, stretched them behind his head, and looked away. "I can't come."

Maeve stifled a giggle. "Do you mean you don't know how to wank or...?"

"I know how! Doesn't exactly take genius-level IQ to comprehend the physics. But when I try..." he sighed, looking more utterly miserable than Maeve had ever seen him "I get panic attacks. I even tried to have sex once and I blacked out."

Maeve eyes were wide, but there was equal amounts of empathy and surprise in her gaze. "And what's your...diagnosis for that then?"

He huffed and put his head in his hands. "Shit to do with my parents. Why they broke up. I saw my dad cheating and I told mum..." he looked up and Maeve was nodding, surprisingly calm and listening.

"Are you giving me therapy now?" He joked.

"Well I might have to." Maeve added. "Can I just ask - does that mean you have literally never had an orgasm?"

Otis blushed for what felt like the millionth time. "Not while conscious, noooooo..." his voice faded.

"Just quietly, that explains a lot." Maeve added, then set her jaw like she was really determined.

"I'm pretty confident I can help you out there." Maeve grabbed his hand again and towed him along. "Where would be more comfortable? My place or yours?"

"More comfortable to what?" Otis was already panting a little over what he was inferring from her stride. "To do what, Maeve?"

"Get you over the o-phobia." Maeve said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"H-how exactly are you going to—"

"Don't overthink it Otis, it'll just be one friend, helping out another." She shrugged "I'm betting that once you break the ice, you'll end up with a pretty normal wank-frequency."

"And you base this on?"

"Let's call it privately-collated research." She gave him a grin.

She hadn't really been upstairs in Otis' house before - even the wood paneling in his bedroom screamed sexually repressed, she thought.

"Now, you got headphones? A blindfold?" She started rifling through his album covers. "What music do you find most relaxing?"

"There's ambient whale noise..."

She rolled her eyes "I'm not sucking your dick to ambient whale noise..."

"S...Suck..."Otis wheezed and dropped onto his bed. "I couldn't possibly let you..."

"Relax, Otis. It's just a favour - one friend to another. I want to."

She popped on some Bowie and then clamped the earphones over his head and got a tie and used it as a blindfold.

"Why do I need to be blindfolded?" Otis asked cautiously.

"It'll be easier to relax if you're not thinking about it." She turned on Star-man and when it was gently humming in the speakers, she made sure the door was locked, and undid Otis' belt and slid his jeans and knickers to his knees. Though he was not hard, she saw every muscle in his sinewy legs go taut, so she stroked at his wrist, and held his hand.

She hadn't exactly been lying when she said she wanted to do this. In fact, she had indulged in a little self-touching, thinking about him the other evening.

She had even taken his sweater to bed.

There was something very appealing about how wholesome the whole scene was. Most boys would be dying to contrive a scenario where a girl gave them a free no-strings-attached BJ, but she knew Otis was not that boy. She lay her hand on his inner thigh, and let him get used to her presence, lightly stroking, before she began.

It was mere seconds before he was hard. But she kept the touching and licking going, base and stem, and tried to lean into him with her body to stop him from being so wound up.

When she took him into her mouth he held her hand even tighter.

It wasn't panic he was feeling. It felt...

She slid her other hand up and they each held on at each other's wrists, Otis clinging for dear life.

Maeve was alternating between sucking and using her hand, pumping him confidently, stopping every now and then to run her hand over his hip, massaging his thigh... he had begun making a kind of noise at the back of his throat which she thought was a good sound...

He was coming unstuck.

"Maeve, I...I can't I..." he stuttered between groaning and panting, half-sitting up.

"Yes you can." She pushed his chest down lightly and went back to work, cupping his balls briefly before working her way back up his shaft.

Deeper this time, she plied him with her mouth and she could tell from the bucking of his hips he was moments away. She pulled her mouth away and brought him up the home stretch with her hand, watching his face with heated

interest as he came.

There was quite a considerable amount, and he shuddered and twitched as it pooled on his stomach. Still holding his hand, she reached into a drawer by his table and finding tissues, dropped them on his stomach.

He struggled to sit up then, pulling back the blindfold, and casting down the earphones that were still humming.

"That was...that..." he tried to avoid her gaze as he swept away to clean himself up. "Er...thank you."

When he returned with his fly zipped up, she smiled at her handiwork - the hectic pink blotch in his cheeks.

Post-orgasmic glow.

"How do you feel then?"

"Relaxed...and weird." He blinked and looked horrified at himself for not offering sooner. "Uh, Maeve, did you want me to...?"

"No, Otis...this wasn't a hook-up." Maeve reasoned. "More like...sexual exercise. Besides, it was fun." Maeve laughed at the uncomprehending look on his face.

He gave a sheepish smile, wondering where they went from here.

Xxxx

A few days later, Maeve casually contrived to bring the conversation back around to his hard ons.

"Had any luck, you know, on solo missions lately?"

"Better." Otis didn't care to admit any more than that, but Maeve was wise to his tone.

"Still not quite...?"

He shook his head.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, arms folded.

"I didn't want to...you know... seem ungrateful."

Otis shrugged. "Anyway, it's not that big a deal."

"And is that what you'd say, if you were talking to one of our clients?" Maeve jutted her hip out, making her stance accusatory.

"Probably not, but I'm not paying us, am I?"

"Otis."

"What?"

"There's one more thing I'd like to try."

Xxxxx

They had peeled off all their clothes, and Maeve was lying behind Otis, her body pressed up to his. He was acutely aware of her hot breath on his neck, her breasts pressed into his back, the fuzzy nub of her pubic bone pressing into his buttocks.

Her hand was wrapped around his side and she had his hand and hers on his penis, the pair of them stroking.

"If at any point you want to take over, go ahead. Otherwise I'll get us there." Maeve said. She began kissing and licking the back of his neck, the nape, his shoulder, until he was hard.

She was using olive oil as lube and their hands were both slick as they established a rhythm. Maeve really did want to help Otis, but she also realized she was getting off, a tiny bit, on being the only person in the world - including even himself - who could make Otis come.

There was something staggeringly hot about being able to grind up against him and get him to moan, and push all that energy towards pleasure instead of panic.

She toyed with him until she practically had to hold him to her with her arm, tucked under him, while she used her other hand as though it were controlling a joystick — punishing his head and rolling her thumb through the thick steam of come around his opening after he'd already shuddered release.

This time, she held him there for longer afterwards, soaking up the rippling waves of aftershock that were coming off him.

"Maeve..." She could hear the questioning tone in his voice, but she didn't want to think about that. If this was just therapy, then there was nothing to think about. It wasn't really cheating on Jackson. It wasn't really anything.

Except it was. That night, she found herself stripping naked and going to bed again in nothing but his jumper.

Xxxxxxxx

Things had gotten weird, lately. Otis was enjoying himself, certainly, but he had to admit it. Maeve was still doing him...favours, and it seemed like she suddenly had a sixth sense for when he was hard. She'd insist on pulling him into the garden shed or even a bathroom stall for a quick blow — this time she'd pinned him to a wall and tried to go down on him in an open field.

"Someone might see." Otis hissed.

"So what?" Maeve deadpanned. "What worse can they call me than 'cockbiter'? Or would you be ashamed for anyone to see me sucking your cock?"

Damn it, now she was getting defensive.

_Pull up, Otis. _

"I just think maybe this is evolving a little - a raising of the stakes."

She batted pointedly at his hard on.

He sputtered. "That wasn't meant to be a pun! I just mean you've helped me plenty already — I'm sure I'll get there. With the wanking I mean. In time..." he paused. "So why do you want to keep going with this?"

"It's just a bit of fun, alright?" Maeve got to her feet. "It's good for you, and it's good for the clinic."

"I never needed any experience to be good at clinic..." Otis muttered. "Nine times out of ten, the sex stuff is more about relationship stuff anyway."

"Oh really? So, Otis, why not go to the source, then? Sort out your relationship problems? Then this" she twanged his erection again "should clear itself up."

"I can't..." Otis paced a bit under Maeve's glare. "Well if I was someone else who came to us for therapy, I'd say I have control issues. Because mum interferes too much in my life so I don't have any space where I can let go without it feeling like goddamned incest."

"So how come you can "let go" with me?" Maeve prompted.

"Probably because you're the only woman in my life even more controlling than my mother." Otis snapped. "You want to treat my phobias and she wants to write about them! And I'm not supposed to think about whether or not this is 'just therapy' to you, or about Jackson, or about what it says that you want to have me at your mercy, anywhere, anytime, but I haven't even seen you naked!"

Maeve looked a bit taken aback.

"But what makes it really sick, Maeve, is that, this isn't just friends-with-therapeutic-benefits-to-me. I — have feelings for you. I have for ages..." he scuffed his feet. "If you're going to do this, I want it to be real. I'm sorry."

Maeve was panting, giving him a queer look. "And what if it was?"

Otis shook his head. "No...you don't get naked with me, you don't let me touch you because you don't trust me."

"Don't I?" Maeve looked properly hurt now. "Tell me more about what I do and don't feel, Otis." She slid to her back down the wall, dragging him with her, settling with her bfeet on the ground and her knees raised. She parted her knees, and pulled Otis' hand inside the tights she was wearing.

Otis gulped.

She was wet. And she clearly wanted him to do something about it.

"I've never done this before." He admitted.

"I know." She made a little gasp as he slid two fingers past her clitoris and inside her. He could feel her walls clenching around him.

He watched her intently, trying to figure out what was good for her, and watching her wince, he soon set up a pace of dipping his fingers into her, then slowly drawing them out and over her clit before pushing forward again.

She moaned softly, and he held her hand, enjoying the flush of her cheeks. A little emboldened, he drew a long, languorous circle on her clit and watched her hips buck, a wonderous smile creeping over his face before he repeated the action.

As she got closer, she grabbed his wrist and pushed his further into her. "Harder, faster!" He obliged, picking a rhythm which reminded him of how she had touched him.

He nudged open her shirt, uncupped her bra and began to kiss and suck at her nipple while she crescendoed around his hand. "Ah hah haaaah." The fawning look in her eyes was uncloaked, vulnerable.

"You've _got_ to break up with Jackson." He breathed, before he leaned in, finally, to kiss her.


End file.
